by Carl Sandburg

The wishes on this child’s mouth
Came like snow on marsh cranberries;
The tamarack kept something for her;
The wind is ready to help her shoes.
The north has loved her; she will be
A Grandmother feeding geese on frosty
Mornings; she will understand
Early snow on the cranberries
Better and better then.

Offering and Rebuff

by Carl Sandburg

I could love you
as dry roots love rain.
I could hold you
as branches in the wind 
brandish petals.
Forgive me for speaking
so soon.

     . . .

   Let your heart look
   on white sea spray
   and be lonely.

   Love is a fool star.

You and a ring of stars
may mention my name
and then forget me.

Love is a fool star.

     . . .

You and a Sickle Moon

by Carl Sandburg

The lips of you are with me tonight.
And the arms of you are a circle of white.

The dream of it burns.
And I want you and the stars.
I want you and a sickle moon.

The finger tips of you
Five hundred miles away
Make a wireless crying flash:
I know a search that’s useless,
I know a code I don’t hunt for,
I know a face that’s gone.

Back home the hills talk to me.
Here the hills are strangers.
The lips of you are a ghost.
The arms of you are a ghost.
       The red and white is empty air.

                                         Omaha 1917

She Held Herself a Deep Pool for Him

by Carl Sandburg

she held herself a deep pool for him
and the shadows crying for him
he gathered himself in many dark waters
and the shadows crying for her
they took each other in shadow meetings
they held themselves in shadow songs

    she coiled herself around him
    with a ribbon of glass
    and a rope of gold
    the coils of her cunning held him
    with rings of golden glass
    with a moon of melting gold
    with a mist of sunset ribbons

In Blue Gown and in Black Satin Gown

by Carl Sandburg


she wore a blue gown for him once
the fabric flowing with her curves
only the hair of long black eyelashes
flashing naked for his eyes:
a mist of wanting gathered
a black-ice loneliness between them:
   she loosened the blue gown
   and lay bare before him
      a smooth miracle of dawn
      a silent shingle of lights--
         so they hid themselves
         in a winding sheet of passion
         in a little hut of shaken walls

she wore a black satin gown for him once
the flow of her hips a poem of night
moving in a dusk of her long eyelashes
   standing they held a greeting kiss
   murmured of the ritual to come
      she lay waiting for him
      lifting the black satin
      gleaming over a white navel
         she drew him in with familiar sheaths
         they lay in a room of blood-rose shadows
   hearing many clocks in a music of bronze
   in flesh tones of a cool vesper twilight
      slowly they moved into storm and drums
      into a whirl of changing light-spokes
         her white torso lost in satin shadows
         sank in a moan of white blossoms
         in a falling sheen of black moonlight

Lines for Flying

While flying today, certain lines from 4 of the poems I was reading stood out:

“Sling me under the sea”

“And I shall be song of thunder, crash of sea”

“The dead say nothing
And the dead know much
And the dead hold under their tongues
A locked-up story.”

Doggedly onward plunging,
Into salt and mist and foam and sun”

“All the last answers
Go running back to dust and mist”


Poetry finds you where you are.